Chapter IV: Through Flood and Fire (13)

The bird, approaching nearer, asked her, if she loved him, to get her mother’s consent to their marriage. “I shall be free then,” said the bird, “and you shall know me as I am.”

Minda lingered and listened to the sweet voice of the bird in its own forest notes, or filling each pause with gentle human discourse; questioning her as to her home, her family, and the little incidents of her daily life.

She returned to the lodge later than usual, but she was too timid to speak to her mother of that which the bird had charged her. She returned again and again to the fragrant haunt in the wood; and every day she listened to the song and the discourse of her bird admirer with more pleasure, and he every day besought her to speak to her mother of the marriage. This she could not, however, muster heart and courage to do.

At last the widow began herself to have a suspicion that her daughter’s heart was in the wood, from her long delays in returning, and the little success she had in gathering the fire-branches for which she went in search.

In answer to her mother’s questions, Minda revealed the truth, and made known her lover’s request. The mother, considering the lonely and destitute condition of her little household, gave her consent.

The daughter, with light steps, hastened with the news to the wood. The bird lover of course heard it with delight, and fluttered through the air in happy circles, and poured forth a song of joy which thrilled Minda to the heart.

He said that he would come to the lodge at sunset, and immediately took wing, while Minda hung fondly upon his flight, till he was lost far away in the blue sky.

With the twilight the bird lover, whose name was Monedowa, appeared at the door of the lodge, as a hunter, with a red plume and a mantle of blue upon his shoulders.

He addressed the widow as his friend, and she directed him to sit down beside her daughter, and they were regarded as man and wife.

Early on the following morning, he asked for the bow and arrows of those who had been slain by the wicked manito, and went out a-hunting. As soon as he had got out of sight of the lodge, he changed himself into the wood-bird, as he had been before his marriage, and took his flight through the air.

Although game was scarce in the neighborhood of the widow’s lodge, Monedowa returned at evening, in his character of a hunter, with two deer. This was his daily practice, and the widow’s family never more lacked for food.

It was noticed, however, that Monedowa himself ate but little, and that of a peculiar kind of meat, flavored with berries, which, with other circumstances, convinced them that he was not as the Indian people around him.

In a few days his mother-in-law told him that the manito would come to pay them a visit, to see how the young man, her son, prospered.

Monedowa answered that he should on that day be absent. When the time arrived, he flew upon a tall tree, overlooking the lodge, and took his station there, as the wicked manito passed in.

The Mudjee Monedo cast sharp glances at the scaffolds so well laden with meat, and as soon as he had entered, he said, “Why, who is it that is furnishing you with meat so plentifully?”

“No one,” she answered, “but my son; he is just beginning to kill deer.”

“No, no,” he retorted; “some one is living with you.”

“Kaween, no indeed,” replied the widow; “you are only making sport of my hapless condition. Who do you think would come and trouble themselves about me?”

“Very well,” answered the manito, “I will go; but on such a day I will again visit you, and see who it is that furnishes the meat, and whether it is your son or not.”

He had no sooner left the lodge and got out of sight, than the son-in-law made his appearance with two more deer. On being made acquainted with the conduct of the manito, “Very well,” he said, “I will be at home the next time, to see him.”

Both the mother and the wife urged Monedowa to be aware of the manito. They made known to him all of his cruel courses, and assured him that no man could escape from his power.

“No matter,” said Monedowa; “if he invites me to the race-ground, I will not be backward. What follows may teach him, my mother, to show pity on the vanquished, and not to trample on the widow and those who are without fathers.”

When the day of the visit of the manito arrived, Monedowa told his wife to prepare certain pieces of meat, which he pointed out to her, together with two or three buds of the birch-tree, which he requested her to put in the pot. He directed also that the manito should be hospitably received, as if he had been just the kind-hearted old Indian he professed to be. Monedowa then dressed himself as a warrior, embellishing his visage with tints of red, to show that he was prepared for either war or peace.

As soon as the Mudjee Monedo arrived, he eyed this strange warrior whom he had never seen before; but he dissembled, as usual, and, with a gentle laugh, said to the widow, “Did I not tell you that some one was staying with you, for I knew your son was too young to hunt.”

The widow excused herself by saying that she did not think it necessary to tell him, inasmuch as he was a manito, and must have known before he asked.

The manito was very pleasant with Monedowa, and after much other discourse, in a gentle-spoken voice, he invited him to the racing-ground, saying it was a manly amusement, that he would have an excellent chance to meet there with other warriors, and that he should himself be pleased to run with him.

Monedowa would have excused himself, saying that he knew nothing of running.

“Why,” replied the Mudjee Monedo, trembling in every limb as he spoke, “don’t you see how old I look, while you are young and full of life. We must at least run a little to amuse others.”

“Be it so, then,” replied Monedowa. “I will oblige you. I will go in the morning.”

Pleased with his crafty success, the manito would have now taken his leave, but he was pressed to remain and partake of their hospitality. The meal was immediately prepared. But one dish was used.

Monedowa partook of it first, to show his guest that he need not fear, saying at the same time, “It is a feast, and as we seldom meet, we must eat all that is placed on the dish, as a mark of gratitude to the Great Spirit for permitting me to kill animals, and for the pleasure of seeing you, and partaking of it with you.”

They ate and talked, on this and that, until they had nearly dispatched the meal, when the manito took up the dish and drank off the broth at a breath. On setting it down he immediately turned his head and commenced coughing with great violence. The old body in which he had disguised himself was well nigh shaken in pieces, for he had, as Monedowa expected, swallowed a grain of the birch-bud, and this, which relished to himself as being of the bird nature, greatly distressed the old manito, who partook of the character of an animal or four-footed thing.

He was at last put to such confusion of face by his constant coughing, that he was enforced to leave, saying, or rather hiccoughing as he left the lodge, that he should look for the young man at the racing-ground in the morning.

When the morning came, Monedowa was early astir, oiling his limbs and enameling his breast and arms with red and blue, resembling the plumage in which he had first appeared to Minda. Upon his brow he placed a tuft of feathers of the same shining tints.

By his invitation his wife, Minda, the mother and her young son, attended Monedowa to the manito’s racing-ground.

The lodge of the manito stood upon a high ground, and near it stretched out a long row of other lodges, said to be possessed by wicked kindred of his, who shared in the spoils of his cruelty.

As soon as the young hunter and his party approached, the inmates appeared at their lodge-doors and cried out:

“We are visited.”

At this cry, the Mudjee Monedo came forth and descended with his companions to the starting-post on the plain. From this the course could be seen, winding in a long girdle about the lake; and as they were now all assembled, the old manito began to speak of the race, belted himself up and pointed to the post, which was an upright pillar of stone.

“But before we start,” said the manito, “I wish it to be understood that when men run with me I make a wager, and I expect them to abide by it—life against life.”

“Very well—be it so,” answered Monedowa. “We shall see whose head is to be dashed against the stone.”

“We shall,” rejoined the Mudjee Monedo. “I am very old, but I shall try and make a run.”

“Very well,” again rejoined Monedowa; “I hope we shall both stand to our bargain.”

“Good!” said the old manito; and he at the same time cast a sly glance at the young hunter, and rolled his eyes toward where stood the pillar of stone.

“I am ready,” said Monedowa.

The starting shout was given, and they set off at high speed, the manito leading, and Monedowa pressing closely after. As he closed upon him, the old manito began to show his power, and changing himself into a fox he passed the young hunter with ease, and went leisurely along.

Monedowa now, with a glance upward, took the shape of the strange bird of red and deep-blue plumage, and with one flight, lighting at some distance ahead of the manito, resumed his mortal shape.

When the Mudjee Monedo espied his competitor before him, “Whoa! whoa!” he exclaimed; “this is strange;” and he immediately changed himself into a wolf, and sped past Monedowa.

As he galloped by, Monedowa heard a noise from his throat, and he knew that he was still in distress from the birch-bud which he had swallowed at his mother-in-law’s lodge.

Monedowa again took wing, and, shooting into the air, he descended suddenly with great swiftness, and took the path far ahead of the old manito.

As he passed the wolf he whispered in his ear:

“My friend, is this the extent of your speed?”

The manito began to be troubled with bad forebodings, for, on looking ahead, he saw the young hunter in his own manly form, running along at leisure. The Mudjee Monedo, seeing the necessity of more speed, now passed Monedowa in the shape of a deer.

They were now far around the circle of the lake, and fast closing in upon the starting-post, when Monedowa, putting on his red and blue plumage, glided along the air and alighted upon the track far in advance.

To overtake him, the old manito assumed the shape of a buffalo; and he pushed on with such long gallops that he was again the foremost on the course. The buffalo was the last change he could make, and it was in this form that he had most frequently conquered.

The young hunter, once more a bird, in the act of passing the manito, saw his tongue lolling from his mouth with fatigue.

“My friend,” said Monedowa, “is this all your speed?”

The manito made no answer. Monedowa had resumed his character of a hunter, and was within a run of the winning-post, when the wicked manito had nearly overtaken him.

“Bakah! bakah! nejee!” he called out to Monedowa; “stop, my friend, I wish to talk to you.”

Monedowa laughed aloud as he replied:

“I will speak to you at the starting-post. When men run with me I make a wager, and I expect them to abide by it—life against life.”

One more flight as the blue bird with red wings, and Monedowa was so near to the goal that he could easily reach it in his mortal shape. Shining in beauty, his face lighted up like the sky, with tinted arms and bosom gleaming in the sun, and the parti-colored plume on his brow waving in the wind, Monedowa, cheered by a joyful shout from his own people, leaped to the post.

The manito came on with fear in his face.

“My friend,” he said, “spare my life;” and then added, in a low voice, as if he would not that the others should hear it, “Give me to live.” And he began to move off as if the request had been granted.

“As you have done to others,” replied Monedowa, “so shall it be done to you.”

And seizing the wicked manito, he dashed him against the pillar of stone. His kindred, who were looking on in horror, raised a cry of fear and fled away in a body to some distant land, whence they have never returned.

The widow’s family left the scene, and when they had all come out into the open fields, they walked on together until they had reached the fragrant bank and the evergreen wood, where the daughter had first encountered her bird lover.

Monedowa, turning to the widow, said:

“My mother, here we must part. Your daughter and myself must now leave you. The Good Spirit, moved with pity, has allowed me to be your friend. I have done that for which I was sent. I am permitted to take with me the one whom I love. I have found your daughter ever kind, gentle and just. She shall be my companion. The blessing of the Good Spirit be ever with you. Farewell, my mother—my brother, farewell.”

While the widow woman was still lost in wonder at these words, Monedowa, and Minda, his wife, changed at the same moment, rose into the air, as beautiful birds, clothed in shining colors of red and blue.

They caroled together as they flew, and their songs were happy, and falling, falling, like clear drops. As they rose, and rose, and winged their way far upward, a delicious peace came into the mind of the poor widow woman, and she returned to her lodge deeply thankful at heart for all the goodness that had been shown to her by the Master of Life.

From that day forth she never knew want, and her young son proved a comfort to her lodge, and the tuneful carol of Monedowa and Minda, as it fell from heaven, was a music always, go whither she would, sounding peace and joy in her ear.

WUNZH, THE FATHER OF INDIAN CORN

By Cornelius Mathews

In time past—we cannot tell exactly how many, many years ago—a poor Indian was living, with his wife and children, in a beautiful part of the country. He was not only poor, but he was not expert in procuring food for his family, and his children were too young to give him assistance.

Although of a lowly condition and straitened in his circumstances, he was a man of kind and contented disposition. He was always thankful to the Great Spirit for everything he received. He even stood in the door of his lodge to bless the birds that flew past in the summer evenings; although, if he had been of a complaining temper, he might have repined that they were not rather spread upon the table for his evening meal.

The same generous and sweet disposition was inherited by his eldest son, who had now arrived at the proper age to undertake the ceremony of the fast, to learn what kind of a spirit would be his guide and guardian through life.

Wunzh, for this was his name, had been an obedient boy from his infancy—pensive, thoughtful, and gentle—so that he was beloved by the whole family.

As soon as the first buds of spring appeared, and the delicious fragrance of the young year began to sweeten the air, his father, with the help of his younger brothers, built for Wunzh the customary little lodge, at a retired spot at some distance from their own, where he would not be disturbed during the solemn rite.

To prepare himself, Wunzh sought to clear his heart of every evil thought, and to think of nothing that was not good, and beautiful, and kindly.

That he might store his mind with pleasant ideas for his dreams, for the first few days he amused himself by walking in the woods and over the mountains, examining the early plants and flowers.

As he rambled far and wide, through the wild country, he felt a strong desire to know how the plants and herbs and berries grew, without any aid from man, and why it was that some kinds were good to eat, and that others were possessed of medicinal or poisonous power.

After he had become too languid to walk about, and confined himself strictly to the lodge, he recalled these thoughts, and turning them in his mind, he wished he could dream of something that would prove a benefit to his father and family, and to all others of his fellow-creatures.

“True,” thought Wunzh, “the Great Spirit made all things, and it is to him that we owe our lives. Could he not make it easier for us to get our food, than by hunting animals and taking fish? I must try to find this out in my visions.”

On the third day Wunzh became weak and faint and kept to his bed. Suddenly he fancied, as he lay thus, that a bright light came in at the lodge door, and ere he was aware, he saw a handsome young man, with a complexion of the softest and purest white, coming down from the sky, and advancing toward him.

The beautiful stranger was richly and gayly dressed, having on a great many garments of green and yellow colors, but differing in their deeper or lighter shades. He had a plume of waving feathers on his head, and all his motions were graceful, and reminded Wunzh of the deep green of the summer grass, and the clear amber of the summer sky, and the gentle blowing of the summer wind. Beautiful as the stranger was, he paused on a little mound of earth, just before the door of the lodge.

“I am sent to you, my friend,” said his celestial visitor, in a voice most soft and musical to listen to, “I am sent to you by that Great Spirit who made all things in the sky, and on the earth. He has seen and knows your motives in fasting. He sees that it is from a kind and benevolent wish to do good to your people, and to procure a benefit for them; that you do not seek for strength in war, or the praise of the men of the bloody hand. I am sent to instruct you and to show you how you can do your kindred good.”

He then told the young man to arise, and to prepare to wrestle with him, as it was only by this means that he could hope to succeed in his wishes.

Wunzh knew how weak he was from fasting, but the voice of the stranger was cheery, and put such a courage in his heart, that he promptly sprang up, determined to die rather than fail. Brave Wunzh! if you ever accomplish anything, it will be through the power of the resolve that spake within you at that moment.

He began the trial, and after a long-sustained struggle he was almost overpowered, when the beautiful stranger said:

“My friend, it is enough for once, I will come again to try you”; and smiling on him, he returned through the air in the same direction in which he had come.

The next day, although he saw how sweetly the wild-flowers bloomed upon the slopes, and the birds warbled from the woodland, he longed to see the celestial visitor, and to hear his voice.

To his great joy he reappeared at the same hour, toward the going down of the sun, and re-challenged Wunzh to a trial of strength.

The brave Wunzh felt that his strength of body was even less than on the day before, but the courage of his mind seemed to grow. Observing this, and how Wunzh put his whole heart in the struggle, the stranger again spoke to him in the words he used before, adding:

“To-morrow will be your last trial. Be strong, my friend, for this is the only way in which you can overcome me and obtain the boon you seek.”

The light which shone after him as he left Wunzh was brighter than before.

On the third day he came again and renewed the struggle. Very faint in body was poor Wunzh, but he was stronger at heart than ever, and determined to prevail now or perish.

He put forth his utmost powers, and after a contest more severe than either of the others, the stranger ceased his efforts, and declared himself conquered.

For the first time he entered Wunzh’s little fasting lodge, and sitting down beside the youth, he began to deliver his instructions to inform him in what manner he should proceed to take advantage of his victory.

“You have won your desire of the Great Spirit,” said the beautiful stranger. “You have wrestled manfully. To-morrow will be the seventh day of your fasting. Your father will give you food to strengthen you, and as it is the last day of trial you will prevail. I know this, and now tell you what you must do to benefit your family and your people. To-morrow,” he repeated, “I shall meet you and wrestle with you for the last time. As soon as you have prevailed against me, you will strip off my garments and throw me down, clean the earth of roots and weeds, make it soft, and bury me in the spot. When you have done this, leave my body in the earth, and do not disturb it, but come at times to visit the place, to see whether I have come to life, and above all be careful to never let the grass or weeds grow upon my grave. Once a month cover me with fresh earth. If you follow these my instructions you will accomplish your object of doing good to your fellow-creatures by teaching them the knowledge I now teach you.”

He then shook Wunzh by the hand and disappeared, but he was gone so soon that Wunzh could not tell what direction he took.

In the morning, Wunzh’s father came to his lodge with some slight refreshments, saying:

“My son, you have fasted long enough. If the Great Spirit will favor you, he will do it now. It is seven days since you have tasted food, and you must not sacrifice your life. The Master of Life does not require that.”

“My father,” replied Wunzh, “wait till the sun goes down. I have a particular reason for extending my fast to that hour.”

“Very well,” said the old man, “I shall wait till the hour arrives, and you shall be inclined to eat.”

At his usual hour of appearing, the beautiful sky-visitor returned, and the trial of strength was renewed. Although he had not availed himself of his father’s offer of food, Wunzh felt that new strength had been given him. His heart was mighty within him to achieve some great purpose. Courage was like the eagle that spreads his wings within the treetop for a great flight, within the bosom of the brave Wunzh.

He grasped his angel challenger with supernatural strength, threw him down, and, mindful of his own instructions, tore from him his beautiful garments and plume, and finding him dead, immediately buried him on the spot, using all the precautions he had been told of, and very confident was Wunzh, all the time, that his friend would again come to life.

Wunzh now returned to his father’s lodge, where he was warmly welcomed, for as it had been appointed to him during the days of his fasting to walk apart with Heaven, he was not permitted to see any human face save that of his father, the representative to the little household upon earth of the Good Father who is in Heaven.

Wunzh partook sparingly of the meal that had been prepared for him, and once more mingled in the cares and sports of the family. But he never for a moment forgot the grave of his friend. He carefully visited it throughout the spring, and weeded out the grass, and kept the ground in a soft and pliant state; and sometimes, when the brave Wunzh thought of his friend that was gone from his sight, he dropped a tear upon the earth where he lay.

Watching and tending, and moistening the earth with his tears, it was not long before Wunzh saw the tops of green plumes coming through the ground; and the more faithful he was in obeying his instructions in keeping the ground in order, and in cherishing the memory of his departed friend, the faster they grew. He was, however, careful to conceal the charge of the earth which he had from his father.

Days and weeks had passed in this way; the summer was drawing toward a close, when one day, after a long absence in hunting, Wunzh invited his father to follow him to the quiet and lonesome spot of his former fast.

The little fasting-lodge had been removed, and the weeds kept from growing on the circle where it had stood; but in its place rose a tall and graceful plant, surmounted with nodding plumes and stately leaves, and golden clusters.

There was in its aspect and bearing the deep green of the summer grass, the clear amber of the summer sky, and the gentle blowing of the summer wind.

“It is my friend!” shouted Wunzh, “it is the friend of all mankind. It is Mondawmin; it is our Indian Corn! We need no longer rely on hunting alone, for as long as this gift is cherished and taken care of, the ground itself will give us a living.”

He then pulled an ear.

“See, my father,” said he, “this is what I fasted for. The Great Spirit has listened to my voice, and sent us something new, and henceforth our people will not alone depend upon the chase or upon the waters.”

Wunzh then communicated to his father the instructions given to him by the stranger. He told him that the broad husks must be torn away, as he had pulled off the garments in his wrestling, and having done this, he directed him how the ear must be held before the fire till the outer skin became brown—as the complexion of his angel friend had been tinted by the sun—while all the milk was retained in the grain.

The whole family, in high spirits, and deeply grateful to the Merciful Master who gave it, assisted in a feast on the newly-grown ears of corn.

So came that mighty blessing into the world, and we owe all of those beautiful fields of healthful grain to the dream of the brave boy Wunzh.

WHEN BRER WOLF HAVE HIS CORN SHUCKING

Anonymous

Brer Wolf he make a powerful crop of corn one year, and he turn it over in his mind how he going to get all that corn shucked, ’cause Brer Wolf mighty unpopular man with his neighbors, and when Brer Wolf have a corn shucking the creeters don’t turn out like they do when Sis Coon have a corn shucking.

But Brer Wolf he have a powerful handsome daughter on the carpet. All the chaps about the county has had their heads set to step up to Brer Wolf’s daughter. So Brer Wolf he send out word how the chap what shucks the most corn at his shucking shall have his handsome daughter.

Well, the chaps they come from the fur end of Columbia County, and some come from Richmond County, and they set to work, and they make the shucks fly, and each chap have a pile to hisself. Brer Coon he mighty set on Brer Wolf’s daughter, and Brer Coon he know hisself are powerful likely corn shucker, and Brer Coon he ’low to hisself how he have a right smart chance to get the gal.

Brer Fox his head done plain turned when Miss Wolf role her handsome eyes at hisself; and so Brer Fox he get a pile to hisself and fall to work.

Now old Brer Rabbit his heart set on the gal, but Brer Rabbit he are a mighty poor corn shucker. Brer Rabbit he just naterally know he don’t stand no chance shucking a pile of corn and making time against Brer Coon.

So Brer Rabbit he don’t waste hisself, Brer Rabbit don’t, but he take his hat off and he go up to Brer Wolf, and he make his bow, and he ask Brer Wolf, if he learn his daughter to dance, can he have her? But Brer Wolf he say, “What I said, I said.”

Well, Brer Rabbit he feel terrible put down, but he fall to, and he act most survigorous. He sing and he dance, and he dance and he sing, and he amuse the company most ’greeable like; and he sing before the gals, and he dance before the gals, and he show them the new step and the new shuffle, Brer Rabbit do. Brer Coon he just turn his eye on Brer Rabbit ’casionally, but he don’t pay no attention to his acting and his frolicking. Brer Coon he just make time with his corn shucking, twell Brer Coon’s pile it make three times the pile of the other chaps.

When it come time for Brer Wolf to come round and count his piles, Brer Rabbit he set down ’long side Brer Coon, and he fall to shucking corn to beat all. When Brer Wolf come ’round, Brer Rabbit he certainly do make the shucks fly powerful ’cause the old rascal just been cutting up and acting all the evening, and he ain’t tired like the other chaps.

When Brer Wolf see the great pile so much bigger than what all the other chaps got, Brer Wolf he say, “What for both you chaps shuck on one pile?” Brer Coon he ’low that all his pile. He ’low, Brer Coon do, how Brer Rabbit been cutting up and frolicking all the evening, and he just now come and set down ’longside his pile.

Brer Rabbit he say he swear and kiss the book, this my pile. Brer Coon he just been frolicking and going on all the evening to beat all; he make us laugh nigh ’bout fit to kill ourselves while I done work my hands plum to the bone. Now he set hisself down here and say it his pile.

Brer Wolf he say he leave it to the company. But the chaps they don’t want Brer Rabbit to have the gal, and they don’t want Brer Coon to have the gal, so they won’t take sides; they ’low they been working so powerful hard, they don’t take noticement of Brer Coon or Brer Rabbit. Then Brer Wolf he ’low he leave it to the gals.

Now Miss Wolf she been favoring Brer Rabbit all the evening. Brer Rabbit dancing and singing plum turned Miss Wolf’s head, so Miss Wolf she say, “It most surely are Brer Rabbit’s pile.” Miss Wolf she say she “plum ’stonished how Brer Coon can story so.”

Brer Rabbit he take the gal and go off home clipity, lipity. Poor old Brer Coon he take hisself off home, he so tired he can scarcely hold hisself together.

BRER RABBIT’S COOL AIR SWING

Anonymous

Mr. Man he had a fine garden.

Brer Rabbit he visit Mr. Man’s garden every day to destroy the latest thing in it, twell Mr. Man plum wore out with old Brer Rabbit, Mr. Man he set a trap for old Brer Rabbit down ’longside the big road.

One day when Mr. Man going down to the cross-roads, he look in his trap, and sure ’nough, there old Brer Rabbit.

Mr. Man he say, “Oh, so old man, here you is. Now I’ll have you for my dinner.”

Mr. Man he takes a cord from his pocket, and tie Brer Rabbit high on a limb of a sweet gum tree, and he leave Brer Rabbit swinging there twell he come back from the cross-roads, when he aim to fotch Brer Rabbit home and cook him for his dinner.

Brer Rabbit he swing this away in the wind and that away, and he swing this away in the wind and that away in the wind, and he think he time done come. Poor old Brer Rabbit don’t know where he’s at.

Presently here come Brer Wolf loping down the big road. When Brer Wolf see old Brer Rabbit swinging this away and that away in the wind, Brer Wolf he stop short and he say, “Fore the Lord, man! What you doing up there?” Brer Rabbit he say, “This just my cool air swing. I just taking a swing this morning.”

But Brer Rabbit he just know Brer Wolf going to make way with him. Brer Rabbit he just turn it over in his mind which way he going to get to. The wind it swing poor Brer Rabbit way out this away and way out that away. While Brer Rabbit swinging, he work his brain, too.

Brer Wolf he say, “Brer Rabbit, I got you fast; now I going eat you up.” Brer Rabbit he say, “Brer Wolf, open your mouth and shut your eyes, and I’ll jump plum in your mouth.” So Brer Wolf turn his head up and shut his eyes. Brer Rabbit he feel in his pocket and take out some pepper, and Brer Rabbit he throw it plum down Brer Wolf’s throat. Brer Wolf he nigh ’bout ’stracted with the misery. He cough and he roll in the dirt, and he get up and he strike out for home, coughing to beat all. And Brer Rabbit he swing this away and that away in the wind.

Presently here come Brer Squirrel. When Brer Squirrel he see the wind swing Brer Rabbit way out this away and way out that away, Brer Squirrel he that ’stonished he stop short. Brer Squirrel he say, “Fore the Lord, Brer Rabbit, what you done done to yourself this yer time?”

Brer Rabbit he say, “This yer my cool swing, Brer Squirrel. I taking a fine swing this morning.” And the wind it swing Brer Rabbit way out this away and way back that away. Brer Rabbit he fold his hands and look mighty restful and happy, like he settin’ back fanning hisself on his front porch.

Brer Squirrel he say, “Please, sir, Brer Rabbit, let me try your swing one time.”

Brer Rabbit he say, “Certainly, Brer Squirrel, you do me proud,” and Brer Rabbit he make like he make haste to turn hisself loose. Presently Brer Rabbit he say, “Come up here, Brer Squirrel, and give me a hand with this knot,” and Brer Squirrel he make haste to go and turn Brer Rabbit loose, and Brer Rabbit he make Brer Squirrel fast to the cord. The wind it swing Brer Squirrel way out this away and way out that away, and Brer Squirrel he think it fine.

Brer Rabbit he say, “I go down to the spring to get a fresh drink. You can swing twell I come back.”

Brer Squirrel he say, “Take your time, Brer Rabbit, take your time.” Brer Rabbit he take his time, and scratch out for home fast he can go, and he ain’t caring how long Brer Squirrel swing.

Brer Squirrel he swing this away and he swing that away, and he think it fine.

Presently here come Mr. Man. When Mr. Man he see Brer Squirrel, he plum ’stonished. He say, “Oh, so old man, I done hear of many and many of your fine tricks, but I never done hear yourself into a squirrel before. Powerful kind of you, Brer Rabbit, to give me a fine squirrel dinner.”

Mr. Man he take Brer Squirrel home and cook him for dinner.

THE FOUR SEASONS

By Lillian M. Gask

There was not a prettier cottage on the borders of the forest than that which was the home of Clare and Laura. A beautiful rose-tree clambered all over the little house, thrusting its clusters of small pink blossoms through the open windows, and nodding to Clare as though to say: “You are as sweet as we are, and the sun shines on us all.”

The roses did not nod their heads at Laura, for she was as ugly and wicked as Clare was lovely. Her face wore always a heavy frown, which her mother’s reflected; for Laura was her favorite child, and she could not bear to see that her second daughter, for whom she had no spark of love, should be so much the more attractive of the two.

Dame Nature had been very kind to the little Clare. The roses had given their delicate coloring to her soft cheeks, and her pretty eyes were just the hue of a purple pansy. The red of the crimson berries that glinted among the evergreens when winter came was not more vivid than that of her lips, and her hair had the sheen of yellow corn when the sun is smiling on it. Laura could not look at her without a pang of envy, and longed to drive her away from home.

One bitter day in winter, when a waste of snow surrounded the cottage, and frozen icicles hung from the roof, Laura asked her mother if Clare might pick some violets in the woods for her.

“‘Violets?’” exclaimed the mother, “at this time of the year? Why, you must be dreaming, child! There is not a single flower in all the forest!”

But Laura insisted that Clare should be sent to seek for the flowers, and, loath to refuse her anything, her mother did as she was asked.

“Do not come back without them, or it will be the worse for you,” Laura called from the doorway, as she watched her little sister go shiveringly down the pathway that led to the forest. In its depths, she knew, there lurked gaunt gray wolves, and these were fierce with hunger.

Clare knew this too, and her heart was faint with fear as she passed through the grove of fir-trees. A cheery little robin hopped down from one of the branches, and sang a few bars of his winter song as if to comfort her; she had gone but a few paces further when she saw the red of his breast repeated in a glimmer of ruddy light in the distance. She hastened towards it, and found it came from a huge fire, round which were sitting twelve strange men. The faces of all were kindly, but while three had long white beards and snowy garments, three had golden beards and long green garments, three had auburn beards and yellow garments, and yet another triplet, with long black beards, were dressed in violet. One of the three whose hair was frosted looked up as she approached.

“May I warm myself at the fire, kind sir?” she asked him timidly, and making room for her at once, he asked her why she wandered in the forest in such bitter weather.

“I was sent to pluck violets for my sister,” Clare explained, “and I dare not go home without them, or she would be very angry.”

At this her questioner turned to one of the three men who were robed in purple.

“Violets are your concern, Brother May. Cannot you help the poor little thing?” he asked. “She will be frozen to death otherwise, for to-night ’twill be colder than ever.”

“To be sure I will,” said Brother May, laying a gentle hand on Clare’s fair hair; and taking the staff from the white-haired man, he poked the fire.

This was the signal for a most marvellous change in the forest. Ice and snow disappeared, and the air became soft and balmy. Birds sang in the branches overhead, and flowers sprang up as if by magic round the path which Clare had trodden. She filled her hands with fragrant violets, and thanked the brothers for their help.

“You are welcome, dear child,” they cried; and the old man took back his staff again, and in his turn poked the fire. Once more it was winter, and Clare hastened home to the cottage as quickly as she could.

Both Laura and her mother were surprised to see her, for they had made sure that she would lose her way. Laura snatched at the violets, only to toss them aside, and was so unkind for the rest of the day that Clare sobbed herself to sleep.

Next morning she was again sent out in the snow. This time it was to seek wild strawberries in the forest, and her sister’s look was so full of meaning as she said, “Do not come home without them!” that the poor little maiden trembled with fear as well as with cold as she entered the gloomy wood. The same friendly robin fluttered across her path, and following the direction in which he flew, to her great delight she saw again the ruddy glow of the fire. The twelve strange men were still seated round it, and Brother January took her by the hand.

“Why are you here again, poor child?” he asked her gently. “It would surely be wiser for you to stay at home while King Frost reigns over the land, for you are young and tender, and his grip is very cruel.”

“I had to come, sir,” Clare explained. “My sister said she must have strawberries. We gathered some in June last year.”

Brother January turned to a companion dressed in flowing yellow.

“Strawberries are your concern, Brother June,” he said. “It is for you now to come to the aid of our little friend.”

“I will do so with pleasure,” said Brother June, taking the staff held out to him, and giving the fire a vigorous poke. At this, the winter disappeared, the trees sprang into full leaf, and crimson berries were seen amidst the creeping tendrils of the strawberry plant.

Clare gathered as much of the sweet fruit as she could carry, and once more thanked her friends with a grateful smile.

“You are welcome,” they cried in chorus, and as Brother January took back his staff the winter once more spread its mantle over the earth.

Instead of being grateful for the delicious fruit that Clare had brought her, Laura was more vexed than ever to find she had not been eaten by wolves. Her mother, too, looked at the poor girl angrily, and sent her out to the barn, as if she could no longer bear the sight of her.

Clare was barely awake next morning when she was told that she must go to the forest and bring home some apples for her sister Laura, who had a fancy for them.

“But it’s so dark, dear mother,” cried Clare in terror.

“Make haste and go,” was the only answer, and as quickly as her numbed fingers would allow her, Clare finished her simple toilet and started on her way.

The robin was still asleep with his head tucked under his wing, but a tiny wood-mouse poked out his head from his nest in the foot of a hollow tree, as he heard her footsteps upon the frozen snow.

“If you walk straight on, you will find your friends,” he squeaked, and Clare thankfully followed his directions. Before long she was warming herself before the glowing fire, and the brothers were asking with much sympathy why she had again been sent to face the cold.

“‘Apples’!” cried Brother January, when she had told them. “Ah! it’s your concern now, Brother September.”

Forthwith September poked the fire, and lo and behold! it was cheery autumn, and the ground was strewn with crimson and russet leaves. A tree of wild apples close beside her was laden with fruit.

Brother September turned to the child with a kindly smile. “Gather two of them,” he said. Clare picked two of the largest and finest, and when she had done so, September handed back his staff to January; he stirred the fire, and ice and snow reappeared.

Laura made no effort to disguise her disappointment when Clare brought her the two apples. She ate them, however, and finding their flavor most delicious, commanded her to fetch her hood and cloak. In spite of all that her mother could say to dissuade her, she declared that she would go to the forest and gather some for herself.

“I shall find much finer ones than those you brought me, you greedy creature!” she said to Clare as she flounced away, refusing her gentle offer to go with her.

The sun shone brightly on the sparkling snow, and she took the same path that her sister had done. The robin glanced at her from his bright dark eyes, but he did not attempt to sing. He was frightened by something he saw in her face; it was the spirit of greed and envy.

After wandering about for some time, and, to her great disgust, finding nothing whatever in the way of fruit, Laura at last caught sight of the fire, with the twelve little men sitting round. Without a word of greeting, she pushed her way into their midst, and held out her hands towards the glowing embers.

“What do you want?” asked Brother January, somewhat nettled by her rude manners.

“Nothing from you!” she answered roughly, scowling as she spoke. The old man poked the fire in silence, and the sky grew dark; a heavy snow storm began to fall, and Laura tried in vain to make her way home again, for the great flakes, dropping silently one on another, made the path she had come by impossible to tread. She stumbled at last into a great drift, and soon was buried in its depths.

Her mother grew more and more anxious about her as the day wore on, and when afternoon came set out to seek her in the forest. She also found her way to the glowing fire, and pushing aside Brother January just as her daughter had done, proceeded to warm her hands. When asked what she wanted, she gave the same rude answer, with the same result. The old man poked the fire, and the snow fell swiftly and silently. Very soon she too was buried in a glistening bank, and Clare had neither mother nor sister left.

With all their faults she had loved them fondly, and it would have been lonely for her in the cottage now, if it had not been for her friends of the forest. As each month of the year came round, one paid her a visit, bringing flowers or fruit, or glorious crimson leaves. The white-bearded men alone came empty-handed, but these sat with her beside the fire, and told her wonderful stories of winter in many lands. In the course of time she became a good and beautiful woman, and wedded a prince from a distant shore.

THE THREE LEMONS

By Lillian M. Gask

A certain Sultan had a son of whom he was justly proud, for the young man was handsome and gay of temper, and had never been known to do an unworthy action. In the circle of the court he was the brightest star, and very sweet were the glances thrown him by the high-born ladies who served the Sultan. The Prince was courteous to them all, but he favored no one, and as years went on, and he showed no signs of taking to himself a wife, the Sultan became disturbed.

“My son,” he said, “why do you not choose a bride? It is time you were married, for I should like to see you the father of children before I go to my rest. Surely it would be easy to find a mate amidst these fair women you see around you? I should experience no difficulty were I in your place.”

The young Prince looked at him thoughtfully.

“I must have something more than any of them can give me, my father,” he replied, “and if you really wish me to take a wife, I will go on a long journey, perhaps even round the world, and seek a princess whom I can love. She must be fair as the morning, white as the snow, and as pure as an angel.”

“Well said, my son,” replied the Sultan. “I wish you good fortune and a safe return.” And without more ado the Prince departed.

The air was crisp with frost, and the glittering crystals of the snow threw back the radiance of the sunlight from bank to meadow. The waves that tossed and tumbled on the distant shore seemed to beckon him towards them, so he hastened to the coast, where he found a splendid vessel resting at anchor. While he was yet wondering how it had come there, and whither it was bound, invisible hands drew him on board, and as his feet touched the deck, the anchor lifted, and the ship set sail.

For three days and three nights it glided swiftly over the sea, steered by a shadowy pilot who spoke no word. On the morning of the fourth day it came to a stop beside a little islet, and the Prince was amazed to see his favorite horse issue from the hold, ready saddled and bridled. Concluding that he was expected to land, he led the horse on shore, and when he turned round to take another look at the ship, it had completely vanished.

No sign of any habitation was to be seen, and the cold was so intense that he could scarcely hold the reins. In spite of this, he rode on and on, till at last he reached a small white house that stood by itself on the top of a hill, unsheltered from the wind. He knocked at the door with eager haste, hoping for the glimpse of a fire, and perhaps some food. His summons was answered by a venerable woman with scanty hair like wisps of snow, who stared at him inquiringly.

“I seek a wife, good mother,” said the Prince. “She must be the most beautiful princess in the world, and as good as she is beautiful. Can you tell me where to find her?”

The old woman half shut the door. “You will not find her here,” she said, “for I am Winter, and this is my kingdom. My sister Autumn perhaps may help you, but I have no time for thoughts of love. You will find her if you go straight on.”

The Prince thanked the old lady, and remounted his horse hoping that Autumn would at least give him rest and refreshment. After a while he found that the snow had disappeared, and that luscious fruit now hung in clusters from the trees. The stubble of the corn tinted the fields with gold, and the squirrels were busily engaged in storing nuts for the winter. A little further on he came to a small brown house beside a wood, and, again dismounting, he knocked at the door. It was opened by a woman with abundant dark hair and eyes like sloes. Her cheeks were ruddy, and her look was kind; she did not, however, ask him in.

“What are you seeking, young man?” she inquired in a gentle voice.

“I seek a wife,” he answered briefly.

“Ah,” she exclaimed, “then I cannot help you. My name is Autumn, and I am far too busy gathering fruit to have time to spare for such things as love and marriage. My sister Summer is full of dreams, and she may find you what you want.”

So saying, she shut the door, and as there was nothing else for him to do, the Prince resumed his journey.

He noticed ere long that the grass by the roadside was very tall, and that the fields were heavy with corn ready for harvest. The air was so warm that it touched his cheek caressingly, and the sun shone down so hotly that he was fain to unloose his coat. He was very glad when at last he saw a small yellow house shaded by a group of trees. As he knocked at the door, he heard the sound of a distant waterfall, and the hope of quenching his thirst was more in his mind just then than the fairest wife in Summer’s kingdom. His summons was answered by a stately woman crowned with auburn tresses.